I didn’t see him, not at first, I didn’t see him, or I would have turned away. Icy cold snakes coiled in embarrassing silence, they spilled from the pit of my stomach and slithered away in disgust. If I’d seen him first, but I didn’t, I just turned around and he was there – a nauseating, heart stopping electric jolt of a man.
My blood blanched when a flicker of recognition crossed that vacant smile and impassive gaze and he once more held me thralled in his headlights. Then I remembered who he was, what I’ve seen him do, and I just wanted to laugh. He’s Amon Ra and Amon Ra don’t come round here no more. I wasn’t afraid, really, I wasn’t afraid, just mesmerized by the symmetry of his stripes and his cold dead eyes.
I’m thinking Amon Rah was a mean junkie bitch, with a bad case of temper which allowed him to lay on women and children. So I smote the bitch with my cosmic imagery and Rasta radiation. I fixed him in the constellations with my size 10 atomic boots and lit a big bad Bob Marley. Amon Rah? Amon Ra don’t come round here no more.